Did I already title a post like this? I might have. Well I just feel sad today.

Since Monday is a greiving day, Tuesday is usually a depressed/sad day. I just really miss my child so much.

A friend of mine (well she’s a former friend- we don’t keep in touch) just had a beautiful baby boy, and she posted pictures on facebook, which lots of proud mamas do. But it just tore me up inside. He is so little and so beautiful and so very perfect. And while I am happy for her… I am more sad for me- which I don’t think is the right reaction. I wish I could be just happy for her, but I’m not. In about two months, I would have had my own perfect baby too. But instead I ended her life. Yes there were reason blah blah blah

This F-ing sucks. It’s been 7 months now and I still am crying every single day! I am telling you, the agony of this makes HG look like a walk in the damn park. I am not minimizing the agony of HG, and maybe I am comparing apples to oranges, I don’t know. But i’ll tell you what, I would choose to have HG pain over this pain, any damn day of the week. But I could only know that in hindsight.

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2 Responses to Sad

Re: the “right” reaction: I can only tell you that it is a very common reaction. It is part of this experience. It took me a literal decade before other people having babies was pretty much a “non-issue.” Ultimately I think time, God’s amazing salve, was key for me, because I did honestly explore my reaction initially.
Personally, (and not projecting) I came to realize that the mirror of other people’s happy reality reflected to me my own, inverted reality. And much as I might have wanted I could not conjure up happiness in the midst of such an agonizing scene. I could not overcome my mountain of grief to produce even an island of joy. But I understood quite keenly why. And that was something new and monumental to me. So I accepted my reaction and took self-preserving measures that were, at the time, necessary for me. Others did not always understand, and of course it was part of the isolation/alienation of the whole ordeal–from HG, to its outcome, to an arduous reanimation of sorts. For me, the math meant that my emotional/physical absence would not diminish any new mom’s joy half as much as such a presence would destroy any progress I was making in processing it all. It’s life in the world of triage and risk-benefit ratios.
So, in the understatement of the century, you have been through an ordeal. If I may, the puzzle pieces are on the floor, and you are struggling to put them back together. It’s especially difficult because maybe they don’t look the way they did before; they must form a new picture of normal. This is a picture that can become acceptable to you in time. But for now an aching heart dims the light in the room, and assimilation may be harder. Respect your fragility, be gentle with yourself, and know that in that dark room you are not alone.

I think whatever you are experiencing now is the hardest thing to deal with. When I had (early) miscarriages (without HG) I thought I would rather have five years of HG for one baby than have a miscarriage. Then I got my HG pregnancy and guess what I thought would be easier? When I was lying in hospital six weeks pregnant being made more sick by the medication that was supposed to help while nobody believed me, I thought that at least a miscarriage would end the HG. I got what I wished for again but not until I was five months pregnant. And now again I think HG would be easier.